


Valhalla

by Ghelik



Series: Loki & Friends [5]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Norse Religion & Lore, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Afterlife, Canon Compliant, F/M, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Post-Canon, Valhalla
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:40:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23752498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghelik/pseuds/Ghelik
Summary: Loki isn't too thrilled by his last words, but, since he is dead now, there is nothing he can do about it. - follows directly after Thanos crushes Loki's windpipe and kills him.
Relationships: Loki/Siegfried
Series: Loki & Friends [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/414379
Comments: 3
Kudos: 29





	Valhalla

_You will never be a god._

As far as last words go, Loki must admit this isn’t his best work, which is a shame because he was the Wordsmith. This final statement should have reflected that. But, for a course cast with his lifeforce slipping away and a giant purple hand crushing his windpipe, the work was one of beauty. A course that will unmake anything the Mad Titan so desperately wanted; that would rob him of his wish and remembrance. The Mad Titan, who had wanted to remake creation and bend gods and Yggdrasil itself, forgotten; the fear he had instilled, erased, not even a bastardized whisper left.

Loki feels quite proud of his parting gift to the monster that has terrorized him for so long.

The god stares up at a blue sky, dotted in fluffy clouds, and lets the warm afternoon sun warm his body.

He takes a long breath, lungs filling with crisp cold air. It smells of pastures, of fruits growing and animals pasturing. In the distance, he hears the rushing of a stream and the whisper of wind between trees. In the distance, children shout happily, and a village rumbles in lively murmurs. Under the palms of his hands, he feels the blades of grass and the tickle of dandelions.

For the first time in millennia, his mind isn’t abuzz with voices and plans. The wailing child that has been a constant companion for so long is gone. In the silence, his skull feels vast like a cathedral. In its emptiness, there is peace.

A smile curls his lip as his mind finally accepts the fact that this is death. The Mad Titan tried to convince him that death didn’t want him. That he would never reach that peace, that he would always be hunted and scared and in pain. The Void had to spit him out; his magic had healed a fatal wound in Svartálfheimr.

Third time’s the charm.

The thought makes him laugh, voice bubbling up, and exploding from his lips. Somewhere close to his head, the sound startles a bird that flaps away with an indignant caw. He pays it no mind and closes his eyes.

Death is peaceful: no darkness devouring him, no falling endlessly, no void devouring him, no eternal silence driving him mad. No overactive mind forcing him to move, to scheme and plan and prove himself. No shame, because there is nobody to look at him and see his shortcomings. He can stay on this meadow for the rest of eternity and be content.

A shadow falls over him, blocking the heat of the sun.

Loki tries to ignore it. Let it be a passing cloud. Let him rest.

The shadow doesn’t move, and his skin grows cold.

Maybe a cow, come to nibble at some tasty flowers. It will tire and walk away soon enough.

Ignore it, Loki tells himself. It will leave soon enough.

But it doesn’t, and the god gets the nagging feeling that he’s being watched.

A frustrated growl crawls up his throat and blinks his eyes open.

A man stands over him. He is broad-shouldered and fair, with a square jaw covered by a thick beard and long hair shorn at the sides of his tattooed skull. His nose is slightly too long and his honey-colored eyes, the kindest Loki has ever seen. When he smiles, it curls the edges of his almond-shaped eyes.

Loki has been stabbed, has been burned and maimed. None of those wounds hurt as much as looking into that face again. His name is on the tip of the prince’s tongue, but his muscles are frozen in place, his mouth dry.

He wants to curl up and die again. He wants to crawl on his knees and beg forgiveness. He wants to hide his face in shame. He wants to hold this man and never let go again. When he finds his voice, it sounds weak and shaky. “Siegfried.”

“Welcome, Loki,” his voice is rough and deep and as sharp as any blade the god has ever held. The knowledge that he had forgotten that sound tears something in his chest. “I’ve missed you,” Siegfried says when Loki fails to produce an answer.

The weight of Mjölnir lifts off his chest, and the prince pushes himself up. Maybe, if they stand eye-to-eye, he will not feel so small and insignificant and ashamed. Except, as he unfolds, Loki towers over Siegfried. This is wrong. He was never taller than the mortal.

“You are dead,” he growls because it’s true.

“I know,” smiles the human nonchalantly. “So are you.”

“What are you doing here?”

Siegfried’s smile doesn’t waver. “Waiting. For you.”

The words are a punch to the gut. He swallows back bile, can’t look into those earnest eyes. Shame gnaws at his belly. Loki grapples for some sort of defense against the attack, some truth to vanquish the specter come to torment him with its kindness.

“Why? I didn’t. I remarried. I had children. I bore children and loved somebody else.”

Siegfried laughs. That sound, too, Loki had forgotten. “Thank your Norns for that!” Loki frowns. “I wanted nothing else for you than to be happy.”

Kindness is a despicably barbed weapon.

So often Loki had imagined this encounter; had pictured anger and accusations, and-

The human cups his face, whipping a tear off his cheek with his thumb. Loki wants to pull away, to scream.

“It is alright, my fire minx.”

“I-I-I I am not a woman, or human, or-“

“I don’t care about any of that. I didn’t marry you for your cooking or your sewing skills – or lack thereof- I didn’t marry you for your womb or your breasts. I married you because you stole my heart, and I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you.”

Loki swallows the not in his throat. He wants this, wants to wrap his arms around Siegfried’s shoulders, and go back to the way things were a thousand years ago. There is nothing he has wanted so much or for so long, and here he is. A dream come true, standing in front of him, warm skin against his cheek. Loki never knew how to get what he wanted.

“I lied to you.”

The human nods, his lips pulled into a wry line. “Oh, yes, you did. You lied, and you cheated at tafl and stole at the market. But you also saved our village from starvation; you made stars bloom in the ceiling to make the children laugh and slapped Erik so hard, he spat two teeth.”

“Erik was an asshole,” says Loki without thinking, and Siegfried barks out a laugh that warms his heart.

“That he was. And you were there to tend to me when I was sick and to dance with me and sing and cast illusions and-“ He trails off, his eyebrows coming together in his brow as he tries to encompass everything in as few vehement words as possible.

The silence stretches between them. It feels like a chasm is opening at their feet, dragging the mortal away from Loki, even though the hand is still on his cheek. The god’s cold fingers wrap around his wrist, feeling the pulse point beneath his skin.

“I got you killed,” he says, words shrouded in shame, bile churning in his stomach.

Loki, Wordsmith, and Liar, finally speaking a truth that has haunted and gnawed at his entrails for a thousand years.

Siegfried cannot possibly deny this truth, can’t accept it, or dress it up with his precious love.

“I got our babies killed.”

Loki remembers.

He may have forgotten the exact cadence of Siegfried’s voice or the smell of his skin, but he remembers his children: hands curled in the dirt like broken flowers, blood splattered on the ground like a course. Jory had been caught as he ran away, halfway transformed into a snake to burrow into the ground. Fen was fallen over his sister’s basket, trying to defend the toddler.

“If it weren’t for me, you would have lived long, happy lives. They would have married and had children of their own to tend to you in your old age.”

Siegfried pulls on Loki’s fingers, uncurling them one by one from around his forearms, bends his head and kisses the creases his nails left behind. “I saw you. When I died. I saw you fighting to get free; I heard you begging for us to be spared. I don’t doubt that if I had married someone else, I would have had a longer life. But I know you loved us, and I know you did nothing to cause us harm.”

“I am so sorry, Sieg.”

He smiles sadly up at him. “Ah, my fire minx, there is nothing to forgive. And, if there ever were, you are already forgiven.”

Loki collapses, pulling the human against his chest, burying his head into the crook where his neck meets the shoulder and breathing him in. He lets himself be held, feeling safe and overwhelmingly happy. “I have missed you so much,” he bawls like a baby, and can’t find it in himself to be ashamed for the undignified display.

“As have I, my beautiful wife.”

At some point, his crying subsides, and Loki manages to regain enough self-awareness to pull himself up and blow his nose. Siegfried takes his hand, entwining their fingers and pulling him towards the small cluster of houses. “Come, my love.”   
“Where?” The god feels bone tired, his head clogged, and his eyes dry and itchy. But the small discomforts are not enough to sour the bliss blooming in his heart at the feeling of his hand around the human’s.

The houses have a familiar built to them with the dragon head’s guarding the doorways and the bowed walls. But instead of thatch, the roofs glint like dragon scales, and the walls shine like polished marble. 

“Weary warrior, you have fought bravely, and now you get to go home and rest with your family.”

Loki staggers in the doorway.

The first thing he sees is Váli, sitting by the fire, his half-sister Hella in his lap. His bright orange hair underlines the blue lines of his Jötunn heritage, skin unmarred by claw marks. No trace of his violent death insight. 

Then he takes in the chubby toddler that is Hella, with her tuft of yellow hair and intelligent eyes and a hint of blue on his rosy cheeks, she is as perfect as he remembers.

“We are home,” announces Siegfried, while Loki tries to find his voice again.

From somewhere in the back, two young boys crash forward and stop dead in their tracks with identical expressions of confusion and concern. Their hesitation allows the god a moment to take them in: their tussled hair and pointy chins, their chubby cheeks, and bright green eyes.

“Hello, my babies.”

Fen, who is slightly taller than his twin, sniffs the air like a pup. “Mom?”

“Yes.”

Jory launches himself forward, crashing into Loki’s waiting arms, Fenrir only a step behind.

“Welcome home, pa,” says Váli.

Loki can’t answer, can’t think, can’t breathe. He can only hold his family as tight as possible and thank whichever Norn saw fit to allow him into Valhalla. 

**Author's Note:**

> This was unbetta'd and I may come back and edit the hell out of it.   
> Thank you for reading and commenting


End file.
